


I'm in the ruins, too (I know the wreckage so well)

by monroeslittle



Category: Runaways (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Missing Scene, Post-Season/Series 02, Romance, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 15:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17409152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monroeslittle/pseuds/monroeslittle
Summary: He's going to hear this song in his nightmares after how many times he's heard it now. Or is that exactly what's happening? He is living in a nightmare, andHighwaymanby Glen Campbell is the soundtrack.It could be worse.If you give the song a chance, it kind of grows on you.---post-season 2. Chase is alive. Or is he? He's got no idea.





	I'm in the ruins, too (I know the wreckage so well)

**Author's Note:**

> This kind of turned out weird. It was just supposed to be about Chase's dream world, but I ended up wanting to include some missing scenes from season 2, so I tried to do both. I rearranged the order of scenes a gazillion times and finally had to give up before I lost my mind, and hopefully it isn't too confusing. 
> 
> There is sex, jsyk.
> 
> None of the other characters really made it into this story in more than passing, unfortunately. :/
> 
> Also, there will be typos. Sorry! 
> 
> Title and lyrics are from "What If This is All the Love You Ever Get?" by Snow Patrol.

_Woah, what if this is all the love you ever get?_  
_Woah, you'd do a couple things so differently, I'll bet_  
_Woah, what if this is all the love I ever know_  
_Woah, I'd say the words that were so hard to say don't go._

\---

He finds a DVD that's labeled _gender neutral bathroom_ in the same black marker that tags the rest of the videos.

He's confused.

Had Gert campaigned for a gender neutral bathroom when she was a kid, too?

He puts the DVD in the player, and sits on the sofa to watch it, hitting the worn play button on the remote. It takes a moment for the video to start, and when it does, he frowns. This isn't another home video with Dale's shaky camera work, Gert's big backyard, and his friends when they were little, innocent kids.

Gert is a teenager, and she is standing at the front of a classroom at Atlas with her black leather jacket, pretty purple hair, and a bright, animated look on her face, lecturing the class.

What the fuck?

He is seated in the class with a group of his friends, and, of course, they are being complete idiots, whispering to themselves, and laughing, mocking his girlfriend.

"Is she _seriously_ talking about creating a _gender neutral bathroom_?"

"What a loser."

"It's like she _wants_ us to think she's a freak."

This is a real, actual moment that happened. He remembers. It's like somebody has pulled an old, forgotten memory from inside his head, put the thing on a DVD, and is letting him watch it.

On the screen, he is doodling on the paper, pretending he isn't listening to her, and doing jackshit about the way his friends are jeering at her.

He isn't interested in watching a younger, stupider him.

His eyes are glued to where Gert continues to rant to the class, and he traces his eyes over her face, watches her glasses start sliding down her nose, and smiles at the way she pushes them back up again.

She hands a clipboard to a girl at the front of the class, and retakes her seat. The clipboard is quickly passed around the class. When it gets to him, it's gotten a couple of names.

On the sofa, Chase allows himself a smile, because he knows that his dumb, past self got this right at least.

He signs it.

"You're actually signing?" Jackson says.

"Yeah, man."

" _Why_?"

"What's the harm?"

The clipboard is passed to the rest of the class.

When it's returned to Gert, she looks it over, and freezes. Her eyes fly up, across the room, and to him, but he isn't looking at her. She stares at him with a face that's unreadable, and drops her gaze to look at the clipboard with a tightly pursed mouth.

He sneaks a quick, fugitive glance at her.

He should have gone over to talk to her. He should have smiled at her. He should have done _something_ more than glance at her from the corner of his eye.

"Idiot," Chase says, watching it happen on the screen in front of him. "You're an idiot!"

If he could change the past, he would change so, so much.

The screen goes black to signal the end of the video. He's surprised. That wasn't long. He knows what happened next, of course, that she got the signatures she needed, spoke at a school board meeting, and got the gender neutral bathroom she wanted. Still. He would have liked to watch her accomplish that.

He sits in the silence of the house for a moment, looking at the black TV screen.

Are there other videos like that?

He doesn't remember seeing any. But, then, he had never seen this one before today. It had surprised him when he'd found it. What are the chances he'll find another new video if he looks again now? In the time he's been trapped here, he's watched every single home video in the shelf under the TV at least a dozen times each, and it would be nice to have something new to watch.

He squats in front the TV to dig through the DVDs.

There aren't any other new videos.

He ends up lying on the carpet in a mess of DVDs. If he wants, he can spend the rest of eternity on this floor. He's got nowhere to be, and nothing to do.

He wonders what Gert is doing.

\---

He wasn't lying when he said that he saw her. He did. He grew apart from the friends he grew up with, but that didn't mean he forgot them entirely.

They drifted apart pretty easily.

It was inevitable.

None of them had much in common. Once they were in high school, that was obvious. They were about as alike as their parents, and they didn't have some charity to keep them together.

The last, little vestige of friendship that remained was lost when Amy died.

He was aware of them, though.

Alex was kind of a jerk to him, and Nico's eyes moved over him like he wasn't there, and he didn't see much of Molly.

But when he heard people talking shit about Karolina, it made anger flare in his gut.

And when he was lonely at home with his violent genius father, when he was bored, when he was stressed about school and overwhelmed and desperate to have a friend who would actually understand him, he had stupid, imaginary conversations with Gert in his head.

He knew she didn't think much about him.

There was a time sophomore year when she passed him in the hallway, their gazes met by accident, and he offered a smile. Why wouldn't he? In reply, she blinked, looked away abruptly, and disappeared around the corner.

He saw her. She was impossible to miss. He just had no idea she gave a shit.

\---

There's a fancy, old-fashioned record player in the corner of the room that plays one song on repeat.

He is fairly certain that isn't how records work. It should play other, different songs, shouldn't it? He thinks the needle on the player is supposed to reach the end of the record, too, and if he wants to hear it again, he's meant to start it over again manually.

That isn't necessary in this world, however.

Over and over and over, it plays.

_I was a highwayman, Along the coach roads I did ride, With sword and pistol by my side._

He thinks it might be because he associates this song in particular with spending the afternoon at Gert's.

_Many a young maid lost her baubles to my trade, Many a soldier shed his lifeblood on my blade, The bastards hung me in the spring of twenty-five, But I am still alive._

He's going to hear this song in his nightmares after how many times he's heard it now. Or is that exactly what's happening? He is living in a nightmare, and _Highwayman_ by Glen Campbell is the soundtrack.

It could be worse.

If you give the song a chance, it kind of grows on you.

\---

She was the one who made a move. He didn't even know she liked him. She had to take the lead.

She had always been good at that.

"Are we doing this?" he panted.

She nodded.

"And this thing that we're doing is . . . ?" He had to be sure.

She laughed. "Sex, Chase," she breathed, in that way of hers that could be condensing but was said with such _fondness_.

He grinned, and started to walk her backwards to the table by the door.

She pressed a line of wet, hot kisses to his cheek and his jaw and his neck, and he was going to come in his pants like he was fourteen if she kept up that, so he slid a hand into her hair, and brought her mouth crashing back against his mouth.

He'd never had a girl kiss him so aggressively, and he loved it, loved her full, messy kisses.

She pressed up against him.

He gripped her by the waist, and hoisted her up on to the table.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and there was a grin on her lips when he kissed her again, and she spread her legs to bring him closer.

He couldn't believe this was real. It was _Gert._ He'd never wanted _anyone_ this much. Strong, take-no-shit Gert. Gorgeous Gert. Fearless, feminist Gert. He hadn't even known she considered him a friend. This? He had no idea he had a shot with her like _this._

He ran his hand up her side to tug on the strap of her silky black whatever, and when he cupped her breast, she covered his hand with her own to keep it there.

He brushed a hand up her thigh.

But, to his surprise, she pressed at his chest to push him back.

"What—?"

She reached under the dress, tilted her hips, and started to pull down her underwear. When she got to her knees, he helped her tug them off the rest of the way. She pulled on his shoulder. "Kiss me," she said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and he obeyed. She reached in between her legs.

"You want me to—?" He nodded.

"I've got it."

She was pressed up against him, and her lips were red with his kisses, and she was literally touching herself, and he was so, so into her, it was unreal.

He pushed a hand into her hair, tilting her head, and kissing her desperately.

Her mouth went slack against his, and she fisted her hand in his shirt, and her breathing had started to rise in pitch.

"God," he panted, "you are so fucking hot."

She laughed.

He thought she was going to tell him to shut up, but she smiled into his cheek, and said, " _Chase"_ with such open, earnest affection, he thought he might be half in love with her.

She pulled her hand from between her legs, and began to undo the buckle of his belt.

"Yeah?" He kissed her.

"Yeah." She nodded. "Do you have a condom?"

"I—" He blinked. " _No._ "

She smirked. "I've got one. In the pocket of my dress. Grab it." She nodded her head at where the wrap of her dress was abandoned on the floor. "You can thank my mom," she said. "She bought them, because _preparation is key, Gert, and protection is, too_ , and she likes to slip them into my pockets."

He grinned. "Way to go, Mrs. Yorkes."

She gripped the back of his neck, and kissed him again.

He pushed his boxers down along with his pants, and when she helped him roll on the condom, he had to close his eyes for a second to get it together, because she was stroking him, and he could not blow it early. "You sure you want to do this?" he asked, nosing at her cheek. He needed to hear her say it.

"Yes." She kissed him. "Yes, Chase, _yes_."

He pushed in.

She dug her fingers into his arms, and when he found her gaze, she smiled, and tilted her face for a kiss.

He kissed her.

It took a minute for them to find the angle, and a rhythm, too, but they finally got it right, and she gasped a little every time he thrust into her.

"Gert," he breathed. "Fuck, I—" He slid his hands under her thighs, and shifted.

" _Chase._ " She arched up.

"I got you, baby," he murmured. "I—"

She gasped.

He knew he'd found the spot, and he pressed his face into her cheek, gripping the desk for support, and trying to hit it again, using the change in her breathing for a guide.

She grabbed his face and kissed him desperately, and the moment she started to come, he did, too.

They didn't say anything at first.

He had to catch his breath. He lifted his head to look at her, and she was panting, too, but she gave him the start of a smile, and he thought his heart might burst at the sight. He cupped her face in his hand, brushing his thumb over her cheek.

Her phone started buzzing loudly on the ground by her dress.

"Shit," she said, eyes going wide.

He nodded.

They rushed to clean up, and dress. He wanted to grab her hand, and kiss her quickly, but she was already on the way to the door. They _were_ in a hurry.

It wasn't until later that things got fucked up.

\---

This is how he spends the majority of his time. He thinks, wonders, and regrets. He remembers. He hopes that wherever she is, she's safe, and she's happy. It's impossible not to.

He is living in a world that's _designed_ to make him think of her.

There are other, more productive ways to pass the time, of course, and he tries to keep himself busy.

He works on designs for inventions he'll never actually have the chance to invent. He's almost completely filled a beglittered composition notebook he found in Gert's desk. He might never create the things he imagines, but he's come up with some awesome ideas.

He's even been tinkering with ways to travel through time.

He eats.

There is always fresh food in the fridge. It's a lot of fake vegan meat, an excess of fruit, and weird, smelly homemade stuff in jars. And every single time he shuts the fridge, whatever he ate is replenished.

He doesn't feel hunger in this place, but it's something to do.

He exercises. _A lot._ He's got to stay in shape.

But, in the end, it's always much easier to sprawl on the floor, stare at the circling of the ceiling fan above him, and remember.

\---

Starting a relationship while they were living in a dilapidated underground mansion, on the run from their evil, psychopath parents, and wanted for murder was less than ideal.

The fact that she had awful, untreated anxiety made it worse.

Before they were on the run, he thought he understood what having anxiety was probably like.

He didn't.

If she wasn't being weirdly quiet, lost in her head, and wearing a pinched, nervous expression on her face, she was angry and irritated and mean, and every single word he said was offensive to her.

They didn't really talk about it.

They talked about plenty of random, irrelevant things, because it seemed to help her sleep if they talked their way through half the night before she nodded off, and that was how they spent the first several long, unreal nights in the mansion.

But the worse her anxiety got, the less she wanted to talk to him at all.

She shifted in the bed at night. She punched at her pillow, and pulled at the sheets. She was restless to the point that it made _him_ restless.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Nothing." She went very still. "You should go to sleep."

He sighed. "Yeah." He turned on his side. If she didn't want anything from him, she didn't want anything from him. He closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, in a rush.

"What?" He glanced over his shoulder.

"I . . ."

He turned to look at her.

She was staring at the ceiling. "I'm sorry I've been so mean to you lately. It's the anxiety. It gets in my head, and it makes me so _mad_ , and it's like I can't control it. It's . . . I'm sorry I'm taking it out on you." She shook her head.

"It's okay," he assured.

"Is it, though?" There was a touch of hysteria in her voice. "I don't think it is."

He took her hand.

It was enough to make her look at him.

"It's _okay_."

She pressed her lips together.

He wished he could do more for her. "Gert . . ." He wished he could just blast her anxiety with his Fistigons, beat that shit with his own two hands until it fucked off, get in between her and it, and protect her.

"Just don't hate me, okay?" she said.

"What?" He searched her gaze. "No way. You have to know that. _Never_." He could never _hate_ her. It was _Gert._ He thought the world of her, didn't she know? "I'm with you, baby. I promise. I'm not going anywhere."

She kissed him. It was a sudden, desperate kiss. She pushed herself closer to him, and gripped a fistful of his t-shirt.

He cupped her cheek. "Never," he said.

She smiled, and he was able to feel the curve of his lips against his palm. "Good." Her voice was warmer, and that was everything he wanted.

To make her happy, he'd do anything.

She turned, but she reached for his arm, and she pulled it around her waist.

He pressed a kiss to the back of her head. There was something about holding her like this that he loved. _I'll take care of you,_ he thought, and she'd probably have some choice words for him if she knew he was thinking such possessive, archaic thoughts, but he couldn't help loving that he was the guy she trusted to hold her and help her and have her.

In the morning, he woke to the sound of her biting her nails, and received a lot of fast, rambling apologies.

They had no idea what they were doing.

They were in it together, though. Even if this wasn't a regular, typical relationship with going on lame, awkward dates and meeting by his locker at school and sneaking into her bedroom at night after her parents had gone to sleep, it was a relationship. They were in it together, and they were going to make it work.

\---

He thought they were going to take things slow. She was at war with her anxiety. He understood, and if she wasn't comfortable doing physical stuff right now, that was fine.

But, of course, it was hard to take things slow when they shared a bed.

It started by accident.

He woke up during the early, hazy hours of morning, and shifted to pull her closer, closing his eyes, and sighing into her hair.

"Whatcha dreamin' about, buddy?" she asked.

"Hmm?"

She ground her ass into his crotch. It made his eyes pop open. He was hard, and he had apparently been pressing his erection into her backside.

"Oh." He winced. "Sorry. It's . . . natural?"

She snorted.

"Hey," he said, defensive. "I'm sharing a bed with my girlfriend. I can't help if my—if—if I _react_ to that. It's not like I'm doing it on _purpose._ " He loosened his hold on her.

She turned. "Girlfriend?"

"Yeah." He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "I mean, right?"

She kissed him.

Both of them had sticky, sleep sour breath, but she pressed her warm, soft body against his, and she was giving him a wet, hard kiss that reminding him of the night of the dance, and he responded to her eagerly, slipping a hand under her shirt to palm her back.

"Nico bought condoms when she was at the store," she said.

"What?"

"I told her that I didn't need them, and she gave me this _look._ " She giggled. "I put the box in the desk."

"You—" He kissed her. "Want to?"

"Yes."

"I thought—"

She hitched her thigh up to bracket his hip. "Chase, I want to," she said.

He got up from the bed so quickly he tripped on a tangle of blankets. She laughed. He found the condoms, though, and she opened her arms for him, and, honestly, the picture of a sweet-faced, messy-hair Gert lying in bed, smiling, and opening her arms to beckon him closer was literally the stuff of his dreams.

They didn't waste time after that.

When he sank a finger into her, she was more than ready for him.

She curled her fingers in his greasy, flattened hair, and he pushed into her, and she held his gaze with the start of a smile on her face.

He didn't break eye contact with her when he started to move.

She pet his hair.

He kissed her.

"Hey." She pushed at his chest. "Wait."

He stilled. "What?" He searched her face, and when she pushed at him again, he pulled out.

But before he could worry that he'd done something wrong, she straddled him, and sank back down on him, and they started up again. He took a hold of her hips with a grin. She was on top of him, was glowing in the gray, early morning sunlight, was gazing at him with a slightly open mouth and a flush in her cheeks and a head of wild purple hair, and it was a wonder he didn't just come at the sight.

"Can you—?" He pulled on the edges of her shirt. "Can you take this off?" They had undressed in such a hurry they hadn't done a very good job of it, and he understood if she didn't actually want to undress completely, but he couldn't help asking for it. "Please?"

She paused, and pulled her shirt up over her head.

He cupped her breasts immediately, and she made a little, amused noise in the back of her throat, and he could only shake his head at her.

"Glad you're happy," she said.

"Yeah. I've got the hottest girl I've ever seen on top of me. Yeah, I'm happy."

She grinned.

And when she rolled her hips, he swore.

In the end, he had to grip her thighs and close his eyes and concentrate on thumbing at her clit.

If he hadn't, he'd have blown his load before she came.

The moment she started to come, he opened his eyes, drank in the look on her face, and fucked up into her so hard it made her breasts start bouncing, and he came, too.

"You're incredible," he said.

She didn't say anything in reply, but she had a soft, shy look on her face, and she pulled a sheet up over herself when she moved off of him.

He ended up tossing the tied off condom on the ground by the bed, which made her huff at him. He had more important things to worry about, however. He rolled back over and pulled her close, kissing her sweetly.

"You're pretty good, I guess," she said.

He smiled.

"Can I be honest with you?" She tucked her hand under her cheek. "I'm kind of new at this."

"What?"

"Sex, and . . ." She shrugged.

"Me, too."

She eyed him.

"What?" He smiled. "You don't believe me?"

"You look the way you do, and you expect me to believe you're new at this?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "Sure."

"I am!"

"I've had sex with two people," she said. "You, and a girl I went to camp with."

"I've had sex with _one_ person."

"Liar."

He laughed. "Why would I lie about that?"

"What about Eiffel?"

"What about her?" He grinned. "You really don't believe me? Gert, come on. I never actually dated her, you know. We made out a few times. But it just . . . I was never that interested in her, and she was more interested in how things looked than how they were." He shrugged. "I've done _some_ stuff with girls, but you're the only person I've ever had sex with."

She bit her lip.

"You like that," he realized.

"What?"

He pushed up on his elbow. "You like that you're the only person I've ever had sex with." He was certain. He knew Gert enough to read her face. He knew when she was pleased.

"What?" She made a face. "No. That's—the idea that you should only have sex with—"

He let himself fall forward to crowd her space. "You like it," he sang. He pressed his grin into her cheek.

"Shut up."

He blew a raspberry into her neck.

She laughed, and shoved him away, only to climb on top of him, cup his face in her hands, and kiss him thoroughly.

He ran his hands up the backs of her thighs to squeeze her ass.

He was new at this, and he was glad it was her he was learning to do it with.

The day they got the plumbing in order, they took a shower, and it was _together_ , and it was probably one of the top ten things that ever happened to him.

That was the night she let him go down on her.

He didn't really know what he was doing, but she was happy to give him plenty of instructions. She told him what she liked, and what she didn't. She breathed "oh, God," and " _there_ ," and "Chase, oh,  _oh,_ " and when she moaned his name, it left him hard as a brick.

She scratched at his shoulders and pulled on his hair and rocked her hips into his face.

And when she came, he knew it.

He kissed the crease of her thigh and her belly and the swell of her breast, and when he got to her face, her eyes were bright in the dark. She brushed her thumb over her lips. He smiled, and she murmured "c'mere," gave him a sweet, messy kiss, and whacked him in the back with the box of condoms.

He fumbled to get a condom while she snuck warm, greedy hands under his shirt to feel up his back.

The moments after sex were some of his favorites, too.

She was softer in the afterglow. It was a kind of affection he wasn't really used to. She drew mindless designs on his stomach with the tip of her finger. She stroked his hair. She pushed her nose into his cheek, and smiled, pressing a line of kisses to his jaw with a kind of playfulness.

They talked about everything from dinosaurs to best classic cars to politics.

Once, she looked at him thoughtfully, pursed her lips, and asked, "if I wanted to peg you, would you let me?" and he choked on the spit in his mouth.

"Do you—is that—do you _want_ to—to—?"

"I might." She shrugged a shoulder. "Is that so shocking to hear?"

"No," he said, slowly.

There was a glimmer of something in her gaze, and, after a beat, he realized it was amusement, and it made him huff, and roll his eyes, because she was Gert, and, _of course,_ she would be pleased with herself for making him jumpy at talk of weird sex stuff.

"If you _really_ wanted to, I'd _try_ it," he said. "Happy? But if I didn't like it, you—"

"I'd respect your feelings," she agreed.

They held each other's gazes.

She laughed, surged in, and kissed him happily.

There were times, too, when they'd start to kiss, and he'd push a hand up under her shirt, and she'd catch his wrist, and pull it out again, and he knew to back off.

It was okay.

Even on the days when her anxiety got the better of her, she went to sleep in a bed they shared. And she didn't know it, but she sought him in her sleep. No matter how they'd gone to bed, he'd wake to find her curled up against his back, soft and warm and cuddling him, and he loved it. Her. He loved _her._

\---

He never imagined she would hurt him. He knew she needed her medicine. He was willing to help her however he could, and he was toying with the idea of going to extremes, of visiting her house at night, or breaking into a pharmacy, and that was probably why it hurt like it did when she pulled that shit with his mother, and it did, it _hurt_.

She should have talked to him. They should have come up with a plan together. She should have trusted him.

He didn't suffer from debilitating, untreated anxiety, but that didn't mean he didn't have feelings, too.

She was calmer in the days that followed, and kinder.

It was more obvious than ever just how much her anxiety had affected her.

He told himself they weren't really over. She was his girlfriend. He was hurt by what she did, but they were going to find a way to work through things.

It wasn't as simple as that, though.

And just when things were going right between them again, he fucked up.

\---

He shouldn't have abandoned her. This is his punishment. He shouldn't have walked away from her with the stupid, naïve thought that he could somehow make it up to her later.

There's a mess of magnets on the mirror that hangs on the wall in her room.

He gave her a lot of them. She used to collect them when they were kids, and his younger, overeager self had constantly been in search of cool new magnets for her. He knows the rocketship has _Happy Birthday, Gert!_ in his sloppy kid writing on the back. The special, collector's Susan B. Anthony coin is from him, too, and when he found it, glued a magnet on the back, and gifted it to her, he was so, so proud of himself. He remembers the way she _freaked_ when he gave her the Nine Inch Nails magnet, because, yes, she was obsessed with a hard rock band at the young, innocent age of twelve.

It makes him hurt to see it now.

If he's honest with himself, he's been a little in love with her for most of his life.

She was his favorite of his friends when they were kids, because she was loud and brash and funny, and she liked to look at bugs with him.

When he got to the awkward, uncertain tween age where, hey, girls smell nice and girls have boobs and girls are pretty, and _I want a girl,_ it didn't actually occur to him that Gert was a girl, because Gert was _Gert,_ and she was his best, closest confidant, and, no, it didn't mean anything that he preferred her company to everyone's.

She was who he missed the most when he was a teenager with a whole new group of friends, because she was smart and fearless and _good_ , and it turned out purple hair was _hot_.

Why did he leave her? She was looking at him with such open, eager affection, smiling, and inviting him for a sleepover, and he _left_ her. Why?

His dad.

What the hell has his dad ever done for him?

\---

The night before the morning he woke in this strange, empty world, he had a nightmare.

Though the edges are blurry, he remembers it.

He was having lunch again with his teammates when he saw Gert across the cafeteria. She was back! He sprung up eagerly and made his way over to her, touching her shoulder to turn her around.

She jerked away from him. "Who are you?" She was scornful, and he could only gape at her.

She had no idea who he was. He was afraid of this. She left the cafeteria, and he followed her down the hallway, and to her locker. "Gert!" he said, desperate. But with no history between them, she had no reason to give him a chance.

He pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes.

His parents were wearing those weird red robes. Molly was struggling to free herself from their grip, crying and screaming and fighting, and her eyes glowed yellow, but it didn't make a difference. He shouted, and tried to get to her, but he couldn't break through the barrier.

He was useless.

He was sprawled on the floor of the mansion, and Alex loomed over him with such open, naked revulsion on his face. "This is your fault," he snarled. Alex was wearing the Fistigons, and they started to glow when he lifted them, and he pointed them directly at Chase.

That was when he woke with a jerk.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. It was a nightmare. He thought it over for a moment, sat up, and reached for his phone.

He saw the shape of someone in the darkness. "Dad?" He frowned. "What are you—?" There was a split-second of what-the-fuck, _shit-shit-shit,_ this-can't-happen panic, and he was blinded by the burst of light.

\---

He's never been able to remember what happened that night. He doesn't know where he is, or how he ended up here. He's considered it endlessly, but there's no way for him _to_ know. This is reality. He is here.

Is he dead?

Is this purgatory? Is he trapped in some lonely, in-between word? Is this what it looks like when you aren't bad enough for hell, but you've never done anything that's earned you heaven?

Or is he on some alien spaceship, trapped in a dream, and soon to die?

Does it matter?

If the world goes black and he never, ever wakes up again, he won't actually know it.

\---

He woke up lying on a bed that wasn't his own. Early, yellow sunlight was steaming in through a window. He frowned, and sat up slowly. What the hell? He looked around the quiet, empty room, and he recognized it.

What was he doing in Gert's old bedroom?

He stood.

The room was messy, of course, because her parents were the kind who didn't care about that.

He looked at the posters on the wall, at the books on the shelves, at the objects that littered the top of her dresser.

Tucked in the edge of the mirror was a picture of the group when they were younger.

Karolina was standing with Molly on her hip. Amy was giving Alex bunny ears while Nico laughed at the sight. Chase was leaning on Gert with his elbow on her shoulder. His eyes got stuck on her. Gert was making a stupid, silly face at the camera.

They were happy, carefree kids.

He wondered if they'd ever be that happy again, or if that was the kind of happiness you could only have when you were a kid.

He frowned.

How did he get in here?

He shouldn't be standing around looking at things with a stupid little smile. He patted his pockets for his phone. He didn't remember how he ended up here, which probably meant it wasn't of his volition.

He went to the door, and strained his ears for the sound of anyone in the hallway. It was silent. He tested the door, and, thankfully, it opened. He left the room as quietly as possible, tiptoeing to the stairs. He craned his neck to look down them, and decided to risk it.

Nobody was downstairs.

Music was coming from somewhere in the TV room.

_I fly a star ship, Across the Universe divide, And when I reach the other side, I'll find a place to rest my spirit if I can, Or perhaps I may become a highwayman again._

It was _Highwayman._ The song. It was _Highwayman_ , and he knew it because Dale loved it.

_Or I may simply be a single drop of rain, But I will remain, And I'll be back again, and again and again and again and again . . ._

It made Chase think of being a kid, of spending the afternoon at Gert's, of playing make believe that they were dinosaurs, building a fortress of pillows to protect themselves from the asteroid, and falling to sleep in the fort while _Land Before Times_ played on the TV.

He made his way through the rest of the house.

Nobody was there.

He found the door of the basement, and it was locked, but he was able jimmy it open, and he was stunned to find a dark, empty room. What the fuck? There was no sign of animals, or experiments.

There was a strange, otherworldliness to everything that was beginning to make him nervous.

He left the house. Outside, a breeze was able to jingle the seashell wind chimes, and they made soft, pretty music. He wandered. He touched the grass, looked at the bright, clear sky above him, and searched the lines of trees. He turned in a circle.

Where _was_ he?

He circled the house to the front. That was as far as he could go, however. When he tried to cross the road to the street, he couldn't. No matter how long he walked, he didn't get closer to the road. And when he turned, he was the very same distance from the house he was before he'd started to walk away from it.

He was stuck.

Was this a weird, drug-induced dream?

He tried to remember what happened right before he woke up here.

He was at home. He had a nightmare. He saw his dad, and there was a blast of light. Right? If there was more after that, he couldn't remember it. But there must be something he'd forgotten. None of that explained how he ended up trapped in Gert's eerie, empty house.

He returned to her room in hopes there would be _something_ that clued him in.

There was.

It took a while, but he started to realize what everything in the room had in common. It was _old._ The clothes on the floor were stuff Gert wore when they were kids. The homework on the desk was assigned by a teacher they had in eighth freakin' grade. The pictures of them were from before high school, and he knew because they were _together_ in them, because Gert had her old, long brown hair in them, because a lot of the pictures had Amy in them.

This wasn't simply Gert's house. It was her house in the past. He was trapped in the version of her house that he knew before they discovered the truth about their parents, before Amy's death, before the group slowly, quietly dissolved.

It was a pretty happy place for him, to be honest.

It made him think of being a young, carefree kid with a group of friends he adored. It made him think of escaping his own terrifying, violent house to play with Gert, to have a weird, home-cooked vegan meal, to listen to Dale sing along with country music records.

Was this a dream?

Had he been hurt somehow, and his mind had put him in a nice, calming world?

He decided to go to sleep in hopes he'd wake up back in reality. Her bed was comfortable, and he closed his eyes, tried to relax, and started to count backwards from a hundred. But when he got to zero, he opened his eyes, and he was very much awake.

It smelled like her. The bed. That might be a really creepy thing to notice, but he did, and he turned his face into the pillow to breathe in deeply.

It made him long for her in a deep, aching way.

If he wanted to see her again, he needed to wake up, and if he was going to wake up, he needed to sleep, and if wanted to sleep, he couldn't just smell her pillow like the weird, creepy ex-boyfriend he apparently was.

He closed his eyes, and counted backwards again. It was useless. His body was not in the mood to sleep.

He stared at the little, glow-in-the-dark star stickers on her ceiling.

With a sigh, he got up.

He explored.

He had already done it earlier, but he did it again more thoroughly.

There was food in the fridge, and he made a sandwich for himself. The old, landline phone didn't work. He found a bunch of DVDs in the cabinet under the TV, and that was something to fill the time.

None of them were real, actual movies. It was a home video collection. Each of the DVDs was inside a cheap plastic case labeled with marker _second science fair_ , or _Gert's birthday party,_ or _learning to ride a bike_.

He put _Gert's birthday party_ in the player.

He smiled as soon as he saw her on the screen.

At seven, Gert was _adorable._

She had plaid green overalls on, and her hair was a mess of short, curly tufts because, he remembered, she had allowed her sister to cut it, and she was little and cute and _happy_.

He watched her open her presents. He watched her grin at everyone while they sang to her, and he watched her blow out seven pink, sparkly candles. He watched her play with the rest of the kids in the yard.

The moment the video was over, he played another one.

If he was stuck in this dream until somebody who wasn't did him a solid, he was going to spend his time watching an especially small, especially precocious Gert be happy.

He watched video after video after video.

He found a home video from Nico's. He didn't know why there would be home videos from Nico's here, but he supposed that was a feature of his dream. He watched Nico open Christmas presents with Amy in what the tape said was 2011, and it left a soft, heartsick feeling in his chest.

There were videos that featured the rest of them, too.

Who cared why?

The point was that he had dozens of videos of his friends when they were young and happy and carefree.

He watched home videos that showed him doing lab experiments in the kitchen at Alex's when they were ten years old, that showed him racing Amy in the yard when they were really, _really_ little, that showed him chasing Gert with a watergun, only for her to catch him by surprise, tackle him, and blast him straight in the face with her gun, and they went rolling off in the mud while the camera shook from her dad's laughter, and he shouted "you get him, sweetheart!" at her.

He was starting to put in another of the videos when the world began titling into darkness.

 _This is it_! he thought.

But when he woke up, he was back in the Gert's old, childhood bed.

He got up quickly, and, to his amazement, found everything just as he'd left it. How? The house was empty. The record was playing Dale's country album again. The street was impossible to reach.

He was _trapped._

He lay on the couch. He did pushups until he was panting for breath. He watched a video.

He was going to have to find some ways to keep himself busy, wasn't he?

He tried.

He raided Gert's desk to work on inventions, and used her pencils to draw the designs in her notebooks. He watched the home videos from their innocent, rosy childhoods again and again and again. He read the books on Gert's cramped, sagging bookshelf, and smiled at the ones in which she'd written her thoughts in the margins.

He had no idea how much time passed. The concept of time didn't seem to exist. He never grew tired, or hungry.

On occasion, everything went black.

And when he woke up, he was back on the bed, and it was as though somebody had hit restart.

\---

He turns his head, and that's when he sees it. He almost doesn't believe his eyes at first. He's been lying here in this mess of DVDs for who knows how long, and he somehow hadn't noticed it.

The case is labeled _going to war._

His heart starts pounding so loudly he _hears_ it.

How long has it been here? Did it really just appear out of nowhere? Why didn't he notice it earlier?

He fumbles to get the DVD out of the case.

It's another of his memories on film. His mouth goes dry. It's a video of them on the hilltop that day. He is there to extend an olive branch from their parents, and they are going to refuse it, and he is going to lose them forever. It's a moment in time he remembers very, very well.

Who is making him watch it now?

On the screen, Gert is about to say that she'd rather just forget him, and he clenches his jaw in preparation.

But when she opens her mouth, it's soundless.

He frowns.

"Chase?" Gert says. "Can you hear me?"

He's stunned. "Gert?"

Her voice is coming from the TV, but it isn't coming from her face on the screen. "Chase? Is it working? Chase?" She sounds so desperate, and he has no idea what the fuck is going on.

"Gert!"

"This isn't working," she says.

"I can hear you!"

She's gone. The volume in the video is back. She's _gone._ On the screen, his friends are refusing any offer of peace. He had heard her voice, and it wasn't a video, or a memory. It was real. He had heard her voice, and it was the real, actual Gert.

The video seems suddenly to skip, and it ends up stuck on a shot of Gert's set, angry face.

He smacks the player. Damn it! He hits play, and pause, and play.

He ejects the DVD, wipes the back on his t-shirt, and puts it again. It starts from the beginning. His heart is jackhammering on his chest. It's the same. The movie. It's the same.

He hears her voice again, but she doesn't say anything she didn't say before.

The film gets frozen at the exact same place, too.

He pushes to his feet in frustration. Was that Gert? Real, actual Gert? Was she trying to talk to him? He pulls at his hair.

\---

He goes for a jog around the house. That is literally the extent of his options for exercise. He circles the house at a run. Fifteen laps around the place, and he takes a break a last. He puts his hands on his knees, and takes a few slow, deep breaths.

Is he going to spend the rest of his life in this place?

\---

There's a DVD on top of the TV. He's pretty fucking sure he did not leave a DVD there. It looks exactly like the rest, and he tries to keep from _sprinting_ to the TV to see it.

Why are DVDs suddenly just appearing out of thin air?

It's labeled _we'll be back._

He makes himself take a slow, calming breath before he puts the DVD in the player. How long has it been on top of the TV? He's been wasting his time running in circles, and _this_ was here.

He's an _idiot._

The background of the film is the room he's sitting in.

Gert is perched on the sofa.

"Chase," she says.

The roots in her hair are staring to show. She's wearing his sweatshirt, and her fingers are curled tightly around the dirty, tattered cuffs. There's a cut on her lip, and a crack in her glasses, and a desperate, tearful look on her face.

"I don't know if you're going to get this," she continues, "but I really, really hope you are."

"I'm here," he breathes. "I'm getting it."

"We're going to find a way to get you out of there." She's got a fierce, determined look on her face. "I promise."

She's the most gorgeous girl he's ever fucking seen.

"Okay?" she says.

He nods.

"Chase, I—" She breaks off. "I . . ."

He touches a hand to the screen.

"I love you," she blurts.

He stares.

"And you just need to hold on. We're coming back. And we're getting you out, and if you let something happen to yourself before we get back, I will be _pissed_. Okay? I mean it, Chase."

He smiles. "I know," he murmurs, and, _God_ , he loves her.

She stares at the screen for another long moment, looks up, and the video cuts abruptly off.

He stares at the distortion of his reflection in the black, empty screen.

After a beat, he starts it over. He watches it again, and again, and again. Despite the fact that he's in a place that's _literally_ a shrine to her, the sight of the real, grown Gert is something he's starved for.

He listens to her say she loves him over and over and over.

"I love you, too," he whispers.

The video doesn't actually explain where he is, or what's happened to him. It's okay. She gave him enough to make him think he's right in his assumption that he's dreamed up this house from his memories, and, in reality, he's trapped in a much worse place.

But he isn't going to spend the rest of eternity in this empty, quiet house.

She's going to rescue him.

She loves him.

He's watching it again when everything goes black.

He wakes up back in the bedroom.

In a panic, he rushes back down the stairs. The DVD is sitting on top of the TV, and he closes his eyes for a moment at the rush of relief that hits him. It's stupid, but he might have lost his mind if he'd lost the video.

He watches it again.

\---

He misses her in a whole new, awful way now that he knows she's going to come to his rescue.

He hadn't really expected her to bother.

Why would she?

He left her. She said he was a coward, and she was right. He was drugged by her parents. He couldn't say goodbye to his friends, because he was afraid of facing their disappointment. He sat on a couch while his parents waged a war on his friends.

After everything that he's done, why would she recuse him?

She loves him.

Despite the fuck that he fucked up, she loves him. Despite the fact that he left, she loves him. Despite the fact that he's a coward, she loves him.

It doesn't seem possible.

He watches the video, and he knows it's the truth, and he is desperate to see her again.

\---

He is doing some calisthenics in front of the TV when the world goes black around him. The very last thing he sees is sweet, six-year-old Gert playing cowboy in a shaky home video. He gives in easily to the pull of the darkness, knowing he won't remember what he might be about to suffer.

\---

His mouth feels stuffed with cotton. He smacks his lips a little. He's thirsty, and his head is groggy in that way it gets when he sleeps _too_ long.

There's a hand on his face.

He blinks. He's in a car. He shifts in an effort to sit up properly, and every single muscle in his body protests the movement.

"Chase?"

That's when his brain gets a clue. "Gert?" He turns his head to look at her.

She releases a breath. "Hey." There's bright, tearful laughter in her voice, and she strokes his cheek with her thumb.

He's in the back of a car with Gert. She is hugging his shoulder to keep him close. He feels like shit, and whoever is driving is taking the turns at speeds that make him jerk from side to side, but he can't really process anything except for the fact that he's in the back of a car with _Gert_.

"I've got you," she murmurs. "It's okay. You're going to be okay. We saved you."

"You're welcome," Molly says, and she glances back from the front passenger seat to grin at him.

"They were stealing your energy," Gert says.

"What?" He feels like shit. "I don't . . ."

"Judging by how awful you look, I think they've been doing it this whole time. I think they've been using you like a battery. They were keeping you in a tank like they had your dad in. Remember? And I think they took you whenever they needed your energy."

"I . . . it was like I was living in a dream," he says, trying to catch up.

"We didn't know how to get you out at first. We didn't even know you were in trouble until we got there. We were looking for Karolina, but she wasn't there, and you were, but we didn't know how to get you out, and we had to leave you there." She looks at him with big, anxious eyes. "I tried to get you a message. We didn't want to leave, but we had to. And when we came back, they had you in one of those awful, soul-sucking boxes, and—well, we knew how to get you out of that."

He grips her arm. "Yeah." He feels like he's going to pass out again.

She smells like soap and dinosaur and _Gert_ , and her hand is sweaty on his neck, and she's holding him so tightly it's as though she's afraid to let go.

"I'm sorry," he says, because he needs to say it while he's got the chance.

"Shit, shit, shit!" It's Alex. "I hate this shit!" The car swerves suddenly around a corner.

"I shouldn't have gone home again," Chase says. "I shouldn't . . . I wanted to—I wanted my _dad_ to . . ." He can't find the words to explain it. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Gert says.

"It isn't."

"Yeah, well." She presses a kiss to the top of his head. "We'll figure it out."

He wants to tell her that he watched the video over and over and over. Does she really love him? He wants to tell her that he loves her. He wants to tell her that he'll never, ever leave her again. He wants to tell her every single thing he's spent an eternity thinking about in a still, timeless world.

"They are literally right behind us!" she exclaims.

"I am doing my _best_!" Alex says.

"Well, I'm going to need you to do better!"

He wants to laugh.

They are apparently in the middle of a high speed chase, and there's a sharp, shooting pain in the back of his skull that's getting worse by the minute, and he has no idea how long he's been out of commission, or what is going to happen now.

But.

He's in the back of a car with Gert.

He is free. That quiet, empty house was a figment of his imagination. He is back with his living, breathing family rather than trapped with memories of them, and they're going to figure everything out.

He closes his eyes and sinks into Gert's arms, and she holds him closer.

**Fin.**

\---

 _So you've fallen in love,_  
_So you've fallen apart,_  
_What if it hurts like hell?_  
_Then it'll hurt like hell._  
_Come on over,_  
_Come on over here._


End file.
